


Scotch Corner (Or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Boov)

by Taurenova (JenNova)



Category: True Meaning of Smekday - Rex
Genre: Character of Color, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 22:16:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenNova/pseuds/Taurenova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is just one story of what happened during the Boov invasion. A boy, Tāne Huntsley, explains his own experience with the Boov and the Gorg. In the North-East of England. At a motorway services. (All OC story)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scotch Corner (Or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Boov)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jadelennox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadelennox/gifts).



> Dear jadelennox - I hope you don't mind that I have written a story about OCs. Once I started writing I could not stop. I also hope that you don't mind how awfully British it is.

_Tāne Huntsley, 12, Hereside Middle_

My name is Tāne. If you're thinking that doesn't sound like an English name - like Thomas or William – you'd be right. It's a Maori name. Both of my parents are from New Zealand and my Dad's a Maori. My middle name _is_ William – after my Mum's Dad – so I suppose I do have _some_ English in me.

We moved to England when I was only one – so, aside from that one time we went back to see my Grandparents (only Dad's parents are still alive, Mum's died before I was born) – I don't really remember New Zealand very well. Mostly I remember mountains and a really windy city (Wellington) and Grandad's big grin and Grandma's big hugs. England is my home – I sound just as Geordie as everyone else who lives north of the Tyne – so that's where we were when the Boov came.

Mrs Truman, the school counsellor, says that the best way for me to "deal" with my "experience" with the Boov is to write about it. If I was being honest I'd say that I don't think I _need_ to deal with my "experience". I'm pretty sure there's people out there that had worse experiences than I did – maybe even people that had _better_ experiences than I did. I'm not allowed to argue, though, not since Mum found out that I sometimes have nightmares.

(They're not even _proper_ nightmares, really. And they're not even _about_ the Boov. They're about the Gorg and that freaky looking ship they had.)

We were going on holiday when the Boov came. I know you probably think it's weird to go on holiday on Christmas Day – but it really beats the traffic. It also makes Mum and Dad feel better about being so far away from home at Christmas time. Christmas for them is not, I don't want this to sound insulting, you understand, but it's not about the Nativity and Advent and all of that. To them it's about family and remembering how important family is (and how great it is when you only have to really see them once a year – Mum's siblings are a bit of a nightmare).

We'd stopped at a motorway services to have something to eat. There'd been funny reports on the radio all day; about weird ships showing up all over the place and, well, I honestly just kept thinking about Doctor Who and figured it was just the BBC messing about with everyone. I guess I was pretty wrong about that.

The North-East wasn't really affected by the Boov at first. They seemed focused on London, which I guess makes sense, and Prime Minister Miliband was in talks with them for days. It's funny, really, thinking about how everyone reacted – the Scottish seemed to ignore the Boov completely, the Welsh baffled them by only speaking Welsh at them (which was why, in the end, the Boov left the Welsh alone, I think) and the Irish showed why the Romans never really bothered with their country.

I remember at one point Dad talked about moving to Belfast, there was plenty of work for him there, but Mum wouldn't have it. Mum loves the North-East. So do I.

Everything went on as normal until the talk of Moving Day started. I remember hearing about Americans being made to move to Florida and thinking that didn't sound too bad. In the UK the Boov decided that Scotland would the best place for everyone to live. There was no way we'd all be able to all fit but they were adamant and when aliens with great big space guns tell you to move to Scotland – you move to Scotland.

Dad had a Plan. Dad is _always_ having plans. Most of the time they never work. Mum says it's because his ambition is outweighed by his ability. Which isn't really a fair way to put it. Dad's good at a lot of little things, you see, but he's not great at any of them – so every time he tries to do something big and grand it never quite goes to plan.

He's wicked good at rugby, though. Of course – he wouldn't be a proper New Zealander if he wasn't.

This Plan was even more unlikely than usual. His plan was to hide in a motorway services. The same one we'd been in when we heard about the Boov. Scotch Corner, it's called. (They've had to rebuild it since the Gorg attack. More on that later.)

Mum's face was just about the funniest thing I'd ever seen at this point.

"No, seriously," Dad had said, waving his hands. "I spoke to the manager, a guy called Rhod -"

"Rod?" Mum repeated.

"No, Rhod," Dad said, sounding exactly the same as Mum. "He's Welsh – the name has an 'h' in it."

"So you spoke to Rhod," Mum said, sighing.

"Yeah – he agreed with me," Dad said, nodding and smiling.

"Oh, no," Mum said, sighing.

"Come on, Kate," Dad said, ducking his head and looking up at her. I call this his 'Pretty Please' look because it _always_ makes Mum agree. Even if it's only after protest.

Mum sighed again. "Okay, Tom, okay. We'll try your plan. But at the first sign of trouble we do what the Boov want, okay? I'm not letting anything happen to Tāne."

Dad had won. So we drove to Scotch Corner, which is on the A1 if you ever want to visit, and we met Rhod, who seemed like a very angry man right up until he recognised Dad, and set ourselves up in amongst the fruit machines. It almost felt like a really bizarre holiday, really.

It sucked that we had to leave our cat behind, though. Mum said it was because he'd be safer if we just left him to take care of himself – but Shearer was always an indoor cat and I didn't think he'd do very well in the wild. Besides – Bill Oddie said that cats were really bad for killing native birds. (Shearer was okay, though, when we got home. I think he might have been eating out of bins.)

It wasn't just us, either. There was James and Jon, the twins who worked at the Royal Burger, Doris, the old lady who worked in the little shop, Michael, who ran the coffee place, and his family. They were all really nice, too, Michael even showed me how to use the espresso machine, which was pretty cool.

After a few days it was almost like nothing strange was happening. We'd hear cars all through the day, and the night – people avoiding the M1, I guess, which I imagine was just one long tailback reaching down to London. The Boov didn't give the UK fancy transport ships or anything like that because it was so small – but when you're trying to move something like 60 _million_ people the roads become nightmares.

We heard a few of the Boov ships go over head once or twice – but they really didn't seem to care about us. Or maybe a little services wasn't very high on their to-do list, I don't know. The point is we were left alone.

And then the Gorg came. Jon (the twin with blue hair) spotted the Gorg ship first. You couldn't see it really well from the UK because I guess it was somewhere around Mexico? But it was hard to miss a second moon when it got so close.

"That's no moon," Michael had said and everyone had rolled their eyes at him. He shrugged and smiled, he had this huge white smile, and I couldn't help myself from laughing.

"What do you think it is?" I asked Dad when we were trying to sleep that night.

"I don't know," Dad said, scratching his head. "I mean – it almost looked like it was _alive_."

"Yeah, thanks for that Dad," I said, rolling my eyes in the darkness. "That's really going to make it easier for me to sleep."

"Every little bit helps," Dad's hand came out of the darkness and ruffled my hair. I maybe hated myself a little for that making me feel better.

The Boov found us the next day. We all hid when we heard the ship splutter and crash into the roundabout. I'm not proud of myself for hoping so hard that the Boov inside would've all died – but that was before we realised that the Boov really were the lesser of two evils.

They came into the building in a rush, chattering away in Boovish, and didn't even notice us at first. Then suddenly what looked like the leader held up a hand and looked around. We were huddled behind the counter of the coffee shop and could see their reflections in the espresso machine.

"Humans!" the Boov said. "I am knowing you areto being here. Come out and we will notto be shooting you."

I mentioned the big space guns before, didn't I? Yeah. We all came out from behind the counter, Michael keeping his two kids behind him, and assembled in amongst the tables and chairs.

"Why are you notto being in the Scot's Land?" the Boov asked, pointing a limb at Dad. Dad swallowed.

"We didn't want to go there," Dad said, lifting his head. "There's not enough room."

"You have beento living here?" the Boov asked, waving around at the services.

"Yes," Rhod said. I could tell by the red colour of his cheeks that he was getting ready to unleash a rant. I leaned away from him.

The Boov turned away from Rhod and started talking quickly amongst themselves. Whatever they were talking about it got pretty heated, pretty fast. Dad gripped my shoulder so tight that it hurt. Finally the lead Boov turned around again.

"You will – willto you help Boov?" it asked. It's skin changed colour and I had a feeling that maybe that meant something. I wondered if I'd get to find out what.

Rhod drew himself up to his full out, breathing in a deep breath, and I waited for him to start shouting.

"Do you want a cuppa?" Rhod asked and I blinked. The Boov stared at him. "I always say – when things look bad there's nothing better than a good cuppa to make things look up."

"What is 'cuppa'?" the Boov asked. I couldn't help it. I started laughing. I couldn't really stop for a while and Mum kept giving me funny looks.

I guess only in the UK would someone offer an alien invader a cup of tea. And people ask my parents why they like it here.

Everyone was trying to contain their own laughter five minutes later when the Boov introduced themselves. They explained very carefully that we'd never be able to say their Boovish names – so all Boov had been told to take a common human name. I guess they must have Googled, or something, because that was the only way you could explain their names.

The lead Boov called himself RickAstley, like it was one word, and I snorted when James (the twin with brown hair) leaned over and said 'brings a new meaning to Rickrolling' quietly into my ear. The other Boov weren't any better – the two smaller ones called themselves Kajagoogoo and Showaddywaddy and the fourth called himself Boy George.

Boy George, funnily enough, probably had the best English out of all of them. He was the one who explained about the Gorg, and about what had happened to their ship, whilst Showaddywaddy and Kajagoogoo took Michael and Dad to look at the ship. (Dad said the ship was amazing. And incredibly broken.) They brought back what they could carry, Boovish technology was amazing, and set about building themselves somewhere to live in the Royal Burger.

Even though it was just words – the way Boy George described The Gorg scared me. I'm really not embarrassed to admit that. I think only someone like Chuck Norris wouldn't have been afraid of the Gorg – and even _he_ probably would've thought twice. Anyone who says that they weren't worried probably never saw one up close. I did. (This is what I have nightmares about, by the way.)

After a few days we all managed to figure out a routine. Even though the Boov would freak out every time a noise passed by overhead. They were disappointed when they realised they couldn't fix their ship (I didn't tell you what happened to it, did I? They'd been attacked by the Gorg somewhere around London and managed to make it this far north on luck and hope). I started talking to them after the first day, even though Mum said not to, and they were weirdly eager to talk. They seemed to love learning about Earth – Smekland as they called it – and I was happy to tell them about it.

Cricket was hard to explain, as you can imagine.

Boy George went with me when we had to make another raid on the Boov ship. Even though we'd not seen any Gorg that far North (Boy George was pretty sure it was because of the weather) the Boov insisted that any humans leaving the building were escorted. The Boov had been scary when they were monsters with helmets and those space guns, when they were faceless, but when you got to know them they were pretty normal. Well. Normal for aliens. It's hard to take anyone seriously, no matter how big their space gun, when they're going around with names taken from British popstars. _Eighties_ British popstars.

Boy George's English was accented - but not with a Boovish accent (not that I know what a Boovish accent would sound like). It sounded like he'd picked it up from television. Not good television, either. Eastenders, maybe, or Coronation Street. I was trying my best to teach him proper English (Geordie English) and that's probably why we were caught by surprise. He was trying to understand why anyone would answer a question with 'why aye, man' when there was this amazing crashing sound across the car park.

He pushed me down behind a car and covered me with his body. The most comfortable place in the world is never going to be underneath a Boov.

"What is it?" I asked, struggling to breathe under his bulk.

"Gorg," Boy George said shortly. You can't really read Boov's voices the way you would human's but maybe Boy George had been hanging around me for too long – I could hear fear in his voice.

"Tāne must todo what I say," Boy George said. "He must tonot argue or he willto being dead and Tānemum willto be angry. Angry Tānemum willto shout and throw things."

"Alright, alright, I'll do what you say," I said, patting one of Boy George's legs.

"Good," he said. "When I sayto Tāne must run veryfast to the ScotchCorner. He mustto make sure Kajagoogoo and the others block the door -"

"But what about Boy George? I mean - what about you?" I asked. (Sometimes talking to the Boov for too long made you want to talk like them.)

"I willto distract him," Boy George said. "And Tāne willto being safe."

"But – you'll _die_," I said, pushing at Boy George until he let me sit up. He wouldn't look at me.

"Tāne said he wouldn't argue," Boy George said.

"I said I'd do what you say – I never said I wouldn't argue," I shot back. It was unfair of me to do that to him – I knew he didn't get most of the ins and outs of English – but I was angry. "What good is it to Kajagoogoo and Showaddywaddy and all your other stupid Boov if _you_ get killed?"

"Shh, Tāne mustto be quiet," Boy George waved at me frantically.

"I don't _want_ to be quiet – I want to -" the look on Boy George's face made me stop talking. "What?"

"Is toolate," Boy George said quietly.

I became aware of something behind me. Something so big that the air around it was making different noise. I turned slowly at the sound of heavy breathing. The Gorg was – astoundingly huge and so ugly that I don't think there's enough words in all the languages in the _world_ to describe how ugly. It towered over Boy George and me, glaring at us with those horrible eyes.

It was also the smelliest thing I have _ever_ smelt. And Dad once thought it would be a good idea to make his own compost mostly from fish.

I was pretty sure this was the end and all I could think of was that I'd never see Newcastle United get back into the Premier League. It's funny the things that go through your mind when you're about to die, or when you think you're going to die. The Gorg drew a great big breath through his nose and I closed my eyes and held my own breath.

What happened next seemed to surprise Boy George as much as it surprised me. The Gorg started sneezing. Like, sneezing _a lot_. Almost uncontrollably. Boy George didn't give me much time to think about this – he grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and dragged me across the car park.

There were more Gorg in the car park. They all looked up as Boy George hauled me over the tarmac. My legs finally started working so that I could run after him. The Gorg started shouting, I guess in their own language, but we didn't have time to listen. We tumbled through the doors, Boy George shouting at the other Boov in Boovish.

"What is it? _What is it?_" Rhod said, grabbing for my arm as I ran past.

"The Gorg – the Gorg are here," I said, wheezing a little from the running. "Where're my Mum and Dad?"

There was a whole lot of crashing noises as Showaddywaddy and Boy George started throwing the tables and chairs from the coffee shop in front of the doors. _They were building a barricade._

"Getting coffee," Rhod said, face pale. "The Gorg are really _here?_"

"They mustto have been seeing the ship," RickAstley said, bustling up. "We mustto be leaving or they willto kill us all."

I left Rhod staring at RickAstley and ran to find Mum and Dad. They were looking at the Boov, hastily pulling space guns and other things I didn't recognise out of the Royal Burger, with confusion.

"What's happening, Tāne?" Dad asked when I crashed into his side, holding him tightly.

"The Gorg, Dad," I said, shivering. "They're really big and really ugly and I think I nearly died. Boy George saved me."

"Guess the Boov are good for _something_," Dad mumbled. "Are they outside?"

"Yeah," I nodded, pressing my face against Dad's jersey. "RickAstley said we should leave."

"Tāne is being right," Boy George said, somewhere behind me. "We should to being leaving. The Gorg will –"

There was a H U G E noise at the front of the services. I pulled my face away from Dad and saw the Gorg trying to break through the barricade. It wasn't much of a barricade. The Gorg's big hands were making short work of it.

"Right," Dad said, straightening up. "Oi, Rhod!"

"What is it?" Rhod shouted over his shoulder. He was watching the Gorg destroy the barricade.

"Is there a back way out of this place?" Dad asked, wincing when another chair was pulled apart by a particularly ugly looking Gorg.

"Of course there bloody is," Rhod said, his irritation at stupid questions bringing him back to himself. "What kind of services do you take us for? Do you think we just have them bring all the stuff in through the front door – 'Hello sir, good morning madam – do you mind if we just carry this ruddy great box of burgers past you while you're eating?' _Please_."

"I'll take that as a yes," Dad said, grinning despite the Gorg. "Show, uh, Boy George where it is while I get Michael and the others."

Boy George touched my shoulder with one of his hands and followed Rhod into the kitchen. Dad ran off to find everyone else, pausing to talk to RickAstley on the way, and Mum pulled me over to the amusements are.

"We might as well take what we can," she said, stuffing clothes into a bag.

I felt kind of numb. Mrs Truman says that I was probably in shock. I guess almost being killed by a Gorg is a pretty good reason to go into shock. One moment I was watching Mum and the next I was listening as Showaddywaddy and Kajagoogoo were trying hold the Gorg back with their space guns. That just seemed to make the Gorg angrier.

Eventually everyone was in one place, except for Kajagoogoo and Showaddywaddy. RickAstley argued with them for what seemed like a long time in Boovish before finally throwing his hands up at them and joining us.

"They aren't coming?" I asked, staring back at them.

"They say they areto be distracting the Gorg," Boy George said when RickAstley didn't answer.

"But – they'll die," Jon said, exchanging a look with his brother.

"It willto be an honourable death," Boy George said quietly, looking away.

"We'll stay too," James said, throwing his shoulders back. "It's only fair – two Boov and two humans."

"Guys – you shouldn't –" Michael started, reaching a hand out.

"No, we've made –"

"Our minds up."

RickAstley stared at them for a long time. Then he handed Jon his space gun. Boy George wordlessly handed his to James. The twins looked a lot less brave after they were given the guns – I think they realised what they meant. They shared another look then went to join Showaddywaddy and Kajagoogoo at the steadily disintegrating barricade.

"We should tobe leaving," RickAstley said, waving at the kitchen.

"Right," Rhod said, nodding. He looked gutted, really, to be leaving the services. I think he really cares about that place. (He's in charge of the rebuilding.)

A massive C R A S H rent the air as the Gorg broke through the barricade. Michael hurried his family through the shop, followed by Rhod and my Mum and Dad. I stood there with Boy George as the twins, Kajagoogoo and Showaddywaddy opened fire. There were so many Gorg.

"Where do they all come from?" I asked as Boy George pulled me towards the kitchen.

"They are being, uh, clones – copies, many copies of one Gorg," Boy George said. "They are having a machine that isto -"

"Wait, stop," I said, pulling free of Boy George's grasp. The noise had stopped. I don't know what I thought I'd see - but even if James and Jon and the Boov were dead, I knew I wanted to see it.

"You areto stop!" Boy George said as I ran out of the kitchen.

The Gorg were retreating. Our Boov-human rearguard were staring with astonishment as the Gorg backed away.

"What is it, what's happening?" I asked Boy George.

"I am not tobe knowing," Boy George said, moving forwards uncertainly. "They don't be retreating. Ever."

"Look at the ship!" James shouted. He'd followed the Gorg outside. The Gorg were running now, to where I never found out, and the second moon was going red.

"I think they have some way of communicating with each other," Jon said as I joined him. "There was this crackling wave of sound – which must've been Gorgish, or something – and then they all started retreating."

"I have notto be seeing that before," Boy George admitted, staring up at the Gorg ship. "Goto be getting RickAstley, please."

Showaddywaddy made to move away but the others suddenly appeared around the side of the building. RickAstley joined the other Boov and they huddled together, exchanging a lot of Boovish. Mum came up and wrapped her arms around me.

"It's moving away," Dad said, shading his eyes and looking up at the Gorg ship.

We all looked up and he was right – the big red ship was getting smaller. I don't know who started cheering but suddenly we all were – whooping and jumping up and down and hugging each other. Even the Boov seemed to do something celebratory.

I held onto my Mum and Dad, laughing uncontrollably again, and met Boy George's eyes. The Boov's mouth made something like a human smile and I smiled back, happy to be alive.

Boy George and I figured out, afterwards, that it was me that made that Gorg sneeze. We couldn't figure out what it was, though. Part of me wonders if someone _did_ find out what makes Gorg sneeze – the Gorg ship looked like it was suffering a pretty severe allergic reaction.

People call the British cynical, apparently, but we never really bought into that Daniel Landry against the Gorg story. We love a good underdog story, I know, but Landry wasn't our kind of underdog.

I was sad when the Boov left. I know I shouldn't have been – we were getting our planet back, after all, and some countries were getting along a lot better than they used to – but I grew to really like Boy George. I –

I'm only putting this next bit because nobody is supposed to read this.

Sometimes I put _Karma Chameleon_ on my MP3 player and listen to it. It reminds me of the Boov who saved my life. It's probably a sad thing to do, but sometimes it's the only thing that makes me feel better after a nightmare. I annoy Shearer by pulling him under the blankets and holding him tight. For some reason that makes me feel safe.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Kristen for being a star and looking it over last minute. To jadelennox for the prompt. Also to Adam Rex for writing such an awesometastic book.


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